desire
to eschew
myself
i
did leap from my slim perch away from me
forlorn from past love still to mourn
reluctant
in sanctuary
i fret some now, but do not mourn
not what i was before
and that red moment
clipped from view
so hid away
now shared with you
the hour of my discontent
at missing marks
and silly things
that only photos
know
we dry and stack laundry
towels blankets summer
children with paper lanterns
play in town
listen girls stop talking
cherry blossoms
smiling footsteps
behind the building dumpsters overflow
rival salon girls smoke and chatter metal bracelets
itching their thin legs
cherry blossoms in the bed of my truck
that one goofy guy who drives a van
is giving everybody the eye
some practice violin
below deck
scuttle before night
dragging carts curiously
or children
some clean fish
fights break out
one man passes out drunk on the dock
what possesses him
laughter
from faraway people running on shore
downtown lights flicker on and back off
it is not dark enough
it is not time
it is cool now
divers strip skin
load equipment rinse
fingers
raw from scraping
red cheeks, sea spray
someone at the last minute forgets their key
wants
a sandwich
or directions
some can’t tell which way IS, some need to be
rescued
it all tastes like salt
(the pilings shooting great beams of light
glowing sky
pushing rockets from cement
up)
it is time to go home
we drove on Easter Sunday to the desert and found
ocotillo
you smelled a snake somewhere in the stone
surrounding the loop trail
no one was on the road to the badlands
the wash, a jilted crevasse straining towards grand
you took my picture on the ledge
returning we hurried over farmland
purple wisteria
crusty and limp
dry air stripping scent and blooms
pale lavender barely falling into place
on the fence someone had hung a coyote carcass
which rotted and shrank in the afternoon heat
and the valley, moist from green hoses strewn across sweetened land
quieted for night
in the bedroom the dark pulls the images
sun sinking
elevation
groves of orange blossom rising up, filtering out the desert dust
little valleys stretching up into the sky
and on the road
contorted face, twisted body
that woman was dead
I wish I’d never turned my head
the vehicle’s cage what I saw
hush, now be still
it is only us that’s left to pick up the pieces.
tonight it is wisteria,
farmlands
and unfamiliar roads
to take me home
The home I’ve made for you
is not soft but it is safe
four sides and a top
and even room for you to breathe
some dirt and grass
two dingy flowers
water when you are thirsty
(or to drown)
a rock in the corner taped down
you only come out when I’m
pretending not to watch.
Curl up in my hand
smooth and warm.
Our kitchen table’s a road map
not of where we’re going but where we been
Makin’ tea
tracing names on my face
like her fingernail on paper
in the mirror I check myself out
Jeanette Pereira
Moise Bonin
Helene Rosalie Mendoza
Elodie Granger
Josefa Lopez
Iris Priou
Aspasie Bonin **head shake hands out vibe four times**
drink your tea, Susanne Cormier
Marquerite Sonnier Gautenot
Anastasia Guillard
Isabel de H’orta
go outside and play in the Canary Islands, Catalina Rodriquez
Juana Rodriguez
Maria Perira
mind your peas in Grenoble, Queen Angel
After awhile I check back
in the mirror I say
Queen Angel real loud
What you doin’ in there girl? she asks
close eyes whisper
Queen Angel
my favorite Mama
of all mamas on the chart
a house sparrow flew in the front door and got trapped in our window
beating wings against glass in the window facing the street
looking up to the hills over the heads of tourists
in the corner of the salon the girls huddled
When I walked toward the bird, it flew.
rounded teacup
so many petals
pale apricot mist
a washed out sunset
only enough to sink and sniff
peach wine
once I was picking a perfect bloom
and got stung by a bumblebee
in the ribcage
we sip ice water and wait for rain
two green metal chairs
a tree
capiz wind chimes all the way from Mexico
blades of monkey grass in the breeze
birds finding their nests with thunder
their chirping dying into salty air
wind flipping twisting
bushes
around edges of an old house
watching the road we count cars in colors
each time they go by
keeping track of which ones
and how many
it always rains.
where do you want to go today
we go inside for lunch
behind yellowed venetian blinds
where glass bottles are saved on a windowsill
and my grandmother has clipped every one of her driver’s license photos
for posterity
fourteen days and seven years ago
you built a tower of stone
beside the sea upon the shore
so i could see your wingspan
as you dipped above the icy bowels below
above the sea your arms would rise
and slowly with the tides
above the sea your form was free
and i could see your wingspan
as you dipped above the icy depths below
~
fourteen days and seven years ago
i left the house of stone
beside the sea upon the shore
turned (my) back on (my) tower in the sand
so you could know your wingspan
as you dipped above the churning waves below
above the waves your form was free
alone above the sea
over the sea your arms would rise
forever with the tides
and you could know your wingspan
as you dipped above the icy bowels below
tipped back into the watery ebb and flow
diving beneath the rising tide
and i could see your wingspan
as you lay upon the cold dark ocean floor